


hopeless (there must be something real)

by chrysalizzm



Category: Kamen Rider Wizard
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Worth Issues, aka haruto being confronted about his self sacrificial tendencies, he was a horrible person by the way i hate him, koyomi does not have time for your shit, legion mentioned in passing, please help haruto, set post-legion after an indeterminate amount of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrysalizzm/pseuds/chrysalizzm
Summary: “Haruto, you know that was a stupid move,” Koyomi begins in that light, noncommital tone that means she’s furious.Haruto, unable to really form a proper response, says, eloquently, “Mm.”“Nitou can handle himself perfectly fine. So can you, though when this sort of thing happens I kind of doubt that you can.”“Mm.”“And Nitou knew that attack was coming. He was turning to block it. Why did you jump in?”Or: Haruto in the aftermath of Legion.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	hopeless (there must be something real)

Nitou fusses like no other, and Haruto finds it supremely amusing. Even now, as Koyomi doesn’t so much push him onto his pillow as she does just let him slip bonelessly down on his own, he leans against the doorframe, biting his thumbnail. 

“Are you okay, Haruto-san?” asks Shunpei, very clearly for want of something to do. He’s less anxious now than he once was, but his face is still pale, and dregs of the adrenaline from the earlier fight seem to remain, judging by the way he paces in a tight circle in the cramped room. Wajima always reminds Haruto that he needs to organize his room sometime. Haruto always replies that he only really uses it for passing out in anyway. This tends to devolve into a passive-aggressive nonverbal argument until the next inevitable life-threatening battle that has both of them apologizing with their eyes.

Right, Shunpei’s question, which he’s neglected for just long enough for Rinko and Nitou to exchange alarmed looks. Haruto wants to toss his head and declare “Of course I am,” in his carefully-cultivated carefree way, but all he manages is a low hum of acknowledgment. It’s the best he can get himself to do. If he’s being honest, he can’t really move his body - the fight took far more out of him than he’d expected. 

He sees Rinko arch an eyebrow at him, concern and disapproval mixing on her face in a way that is highly disconcerting but very familiar, and he can see her swell as if to begin lecturing him. Something must show in his face, though, because she just as quickly slumps back into the wall, folding her arms over her chest, her lips set. She’s willing to lose against him. She’s willing to lose against any of her friends, even when it matters, acquiescent, pacifistic. Haruto often wonders if that’s a good or bad thing.

Rinko doesn’t need to make a move, though. Koyomi, who doesn’t give two shits about what state Haruto’s in because she has always seen him worse, tears into him first.

“Haruto, you know that was a stupid move,” she begins in that light, noncommital tone that means she’s furious. Haruto can see Nitou wince out of the corner of his eye. Shunpei makes a wounded noise on Haruto’s behalf. 

Haruto, unable to really form a proper response, says, eloquently, “Mm.”

“Nitou can handle himself perfectly fine. So can you, though when this sort of thing happens I kind of doubt that you can.”

She’s being a little more brutal than usual. “Mm.”

“And Nitou knew that attack was coming. He was turning to block it. Why did you jump in?”

Haruto remains silent. There’s no correct answer to that question, even though everyone seems to have leaned in, wanting to hear his response. Haruto isn’t sure himself. It might have had something to do with the fact that he can’t sleep, recently, at all - plagued by memories of Legion and the maniacal light in his eyes, Legion and his scythe painting violet smiles into his parents’ throats, Legion and ichor spilling from Dragon as the Phantom’s blade finds its way into Haruto’s core - and he keeps getting filled with restless energy. He’d come to the tentative conclusion that it was a good thing, since it’s not as though there are any shortages of Phantoms. They’ve been coming in droves as of late, like despair has taken root a little more firmly in the world, and Haruto can’t help the creeping suspicion that his few days without the warmth of magic in his veins could have let hundreds of Gates slip through the cracks. 

He was there, before Nitou. Before anyone, as far as he knows. He’s the first giver of hope, and he owes the world, and he can’t afford to let anyone else fall.

The fight hadn’t been particularly difficult. Haruto remembers kicking the last of the goons he was facing down and turning to glance at Nitou, and seeing the feeble husk of one last Phantom dragging itself upright to shoot something at the Beast. He hadn’t even paused to think before throwing himself in the way of the energy blast. 

It didn’t hurt at first. Neither had Legion’s slice. Both had been clean, white bursts of shock rather than pain, a single moment of complete clarity, of Haruto being able to sense every single thing that was happening to him without any attachment. Like being blown out of his body. That moment was a relief, in a way. What followed was always agony. Shunpei clenching his hand, Nitou killing the Phantom. Rinko calling Koyomi, Nitou’s ring on his finger. Dragon singing _alive_ , Dragon screaming _dead_. 

Haruto’s fine, though. It had hurt, but Koyomi had brought her first aid kit along, and with Rinko’s steady hands and Koyomi, Nitou, and Shunpei’s steady stream of murmured assurances, Haruto was fixed up in all ways but one - his mana, which had been trickling away treacherously during the past week with every confrontation and that he hadn’t bothered to replenish. It’s his own fault, but one he can overlook, as he’s overlooked it countless times.

So he can’t fathom why this time, of all times, everyone’s looking at him like he killed their dog. 

“Haruto,” says Koyomi gently. Somehow, it stings more than when she was angry. Haruto can’t muster up the energy to flinch, but it’s the thought that counts.

“It’s been a week since you got your mana back. You can stop running.”

Haruto blinks. Between one breath and the next, he flickers between this moment, right here, right now, the warm light of evening in his room and the worried faces of the people he most cherishes and the dull ache in his chest, and the seconds counting down to the impact; the sharp clarity of being hit, and the pain when it registers. He’s suspended in that instant, right before he falls to his knees, right before he can see the look on Nitou’s face, right before he can hear Shunpei cry out. It is white, and crisp. It doesn’t hurt.

“H-Hey, Haruto,” comes Nitou’s uncertain voice, and Haruto realizes he is staring at the wall opposite his face, that he has managed to curl into his side. That the wound in his stomach pulses with every heartbeat, and that his vision is blurring.

“Oh jeez. Shoot, is he crying? Haruto - ” Nitou trips over his own feet trying to get to Haruto’s bedside faster, but when he makes it he sinks down and, with uncharacteristic care, blots away some of the wetness from Haruto’s cheeks with his sleeve. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, okay? It’s like Koyomi-chan said: You can stop running. There’s no - countdown, or whatever. There’s not, like, a timer on what you can do. Like - ugh, Rinko-chan, you say something, I’m so bad with words.”

Rinko pauses, looking a little lost, but when Nitou shuffles to the side to make room for her, she huffs and takes his spot. “Ah... You’re worth it, Haruto-kun. You don’t have to… to keep throwing yourself at Phantoms forever. There’s a place in the world for you and it doesn’t need you to pay a fine to take it.”

Shunpei jumps in now, crouched over Nitou’s head in a vaguely ominous way that makes the corners of Haruto’s lip twitch even as he sniffles. “Right, Haruto-san! You have your mana. You have your familiars, and you have us. We’re not going anywhere.” His voice softens from its usual intense, million-miles-per-hour ramble, and Haruto thinks, nonsensically, that he’s grown up somewhat.

“It’s not evanescent,” pipes up Wajima for the first time, and Haruto shoots a startled glance at him, not bothering to hide his surprise - they’d rowed again yesterday, and Haruto was sure that Wajima had thought he’d gotten his comeuppance and proved Wajima’s point about Haruto being a self-sacrificial _child_. Wajima gives him a wry look in return and adds, “Take it slower, kid. Your mana isn’t going anywhere anymore - not if we have a say in it.”

“And for goodness’ sake,” says Koyomi, smoothing Haruto’s hair back from his feverish forehead with tender finality, “stop sacrificing yourself for other people.”

“And there go the floodgates,” observes Nitou, as Haruto tucks his face further into his pillow to hide the overflowing tears, but his voice isn’t judgemental or harsh; he even moves back to his original seat to pat Haruto’s shoulder. As awkward as he is, his expression is nothing but earnest when Haruto chances a look, and that just makes his heart ache more.

When a few minutes pass with no sign of his tears stopping, Shunpei frets, “Should we give him water or something? I feel like he’s going to cry himself into dehydration soon - ”

“Thanks.”

As one, the occupants of the room freeze, and turn to look at Haruto. It should be comical, but all Haruto can see is the warmth in each and every one of their gazes, just as real as the setting sun through the slats of his blinds, just as soothing as the buzz of magic under his skin. More calming, more comforting, more grounding even than the cold moments before hitting the ground. 

_That’s love_ , he thinks, dizzied by the wave of hope it brings, _that’s love._

“Thank you,” he repeats, hoarse, heartfelt, barely above a whisper. The day is catching up to him, and the mana in his blood is singing him a lullaby.

But he’d have to be dead not to feel the fingers carding fondly through his hair, and he knows with certainty, even as he drops off, that he is safe, and protected, and he’s not falling, nor has he crashed.

He’s landed. And the grass is soft beneath his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> title from halsey's "hopeless".
> 
> ah, kamen rider wizard. straight out of eleven-year-old me's live-action shounen-anime dreams. i haven't watched wizard in a good long while aside from one or five favorites, but what i remember of it is quite meaningful and sweet. (except for the ending, which i still have not accepted. me, slapping whiteout over the final three episodes: CANON IS A SANDBOX)
> 
> the two-episode legion arc was definitely one of the highlights of the show for me. aside from the obvious base appeal of hurt/comfort, it delved into haruto's psyche, what taking away his ability to achieve his purpose did to him, and how he would conquer such a seemingly insurmountable challenge. i refuse to believe that he walked away from the legion experience unscathed, though (ever seen a cockroach reject tear your inner world into pieces and walk away cackling? yeah, me neither), which is why i came up with this fic in thirty minutes. at some point it turned into extended-metaphorical-word-vomit, but that's the way most of my fics seem to go these days. hope you enjoyed and i hope everyone and their loved ones are safe and well during quarantine!


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